


Warm Me Up

by Saraste



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, But Mainly It's Just PWP Smut, But There's Some Semblance of Plot, Christmas Fluff, Derek and Stiles Live Happily Together, Derek is Apparently a Teacher?, Domestic, Established Relationship, Even When They're Mentioned Only in Passing, Future Fic, Kinda, M/M, Smut, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is cold, Derek proceeds to warm him up. Sexytimes ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a post [ at tumblr. ](http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/70773082323/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-complaining-about-how#notes)
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: This fic is full of smut. It’s also kinda my Christmas fic. Kinda feel the urge to write more on this vein later, cos I really didn’t get to pack feel in this one, as it’s smut. Fluffy sappy saccharine smut but still smut.
> 
> This was also, for the first time since ages, so easy to write. I had loads of fun writing it out.

 ”I’m so cooooold!” Stiles whined dramatically. He flops onto his back over the covers, limbs flailing. “I’m gonna freeze to death and my fingers and toes will fall off!”

Derek turned away from the desk; he had known that having a desk in their bedroom had been a bad bad idea in the first place, for Stiles would always be a distraction. He hadn’t thought that Stiles would even be there when he himself was grading papers, the radiator in the bedroom was broken and Derek hadn’t gotten to try and fix it yet. (Mostly because he liked how Stiles burrowed against him in the night, craving for his warmth. Derek didn’t feel the cold as much with his higher basic temperature.)

Stiles looks so annoyed and cold that Derek gives in and decides that the papers can wait for later. Not like anyone is expecting him to grade them before Christmas anyway. He had only wanted to do it so that he’d have a proper holiday all the way up to New Years and could focus solely on Stiles. Stiles, who was shaking a little, minute trembles rattling his bones. Dressed in only sweats and a hoodie over a t-shirt it was no wonder with the chill in the bedroom.

The boy had filled out while away in college, at Berkley, but he was still wary and long limbed, lithe. And fitted around Derek so perfectly when they cuddled or fucked, or fucked and then cuddled, when they slotted each other’s bodies around one another and just reveled in the closeness.

The four years that Stiles was away for his degree in Folklore studies and behavioral analysis had been the longest of Derek’s life after they’d gotten together, properly, when Stiles had been a few weeks into being nineteen.

What all of that means is that Derek always give in now. He lives for Stiles in a way he sometimes thinks isn’t entirely healthy but cannot bring himself to care. His lives mission is to keep Stiles happy, healthy and alive.

“Let’s go to the living room, I’ll light a fire and we can cuddle,” Derek tells Stiles while he swings his swivel chair around and get up, reaching out with a hand. Stiles is up as if he’s hooked on strings and plasters his body against Derek’s side, grinning. He seems all too smug, Derek having learned to pinpoint the shifts on his scent and heartbeat and translating them into Stiles moods during their many years together. So, despite shivering and with fingertips that feel icy against Derek’s own hotter skin, Stiles may not have been as cold as he professed to be.

Derek didn’t mind.

They made their way downstairs, the stairs creaking as they went.

Derek had thought it over for a long time when Stiles was away for college, and had finally decided to build a new house and rip down the remains of the old charred Hale House. It had given him focus and something to do during the all too long days when he couldn’t visit Stiles at his college. They’d talked all the time on the phone, texted and skyped, but Stiles’ physical absence from Derek’s life, even when it had been temporary, had been a constant ache in Derek’s soul, around his heart. Building a new home for them had helped, thinking about all the new memories which they could make there, having room for Derek’s beta’s who, despite most of them having apartments of their own, still mostly converged at what they called the pack house. Derek and Stiles’.

Life was good.

Downstairs Stiles was steered by Derek’s hand on the small of his back to the front of the fireplace and a big granny square afghan was wrapped around his shoulders. It had been made by Stiles’ mother and Derek never missed the way Stiles’ fingers stroked over the colorful squares with a bittersweet fondness wafting from him. But it always lessened and then Stiles was just happy. Now, after over a decade since her death, the bitter sweetness was brief, though not any less acute.

“You stay there,” Derek told Stiles while he went to build a fire in the crate, bending maybe a little more than what was necessary when he was positioning the logs, piling a little kindling in a nook below them and then lighting it efficiently. He stayed bent a little longer, watching the fire catching hold, utterly conscious of the way Stiles scent had changed, of the tendrils of arousal snaking out from beneath the old woolly blanket.

“Come here,” Stiles said breaking the silence and making Derek finally turn. When he did, Stiles was holding up a corner of the blanket and beckoning for Derek.

Derek only took extra time to put the guard in front of the fireplace for safety. He and fire never would be the best of friends.

It took him next to no time to crawl to Stiles and slip under the quilt with him, and winding his arms all around him, holding him tightly to his own body heat. Stiles sighed contentedly and for long moments they just sat there with Stiles pressed back to chest with Derek behind him, sitting curled up in the v of Derek’s spread legs and watching and being warmed by the fire.

Then, almost like clockwork, mostly because Stiles’ arousal was driving Derek insane, Derek bent and nibbled at the side of Stiles’ neck gently, kissing at the barely there hurts, almost barely visible nicks of his human teeth. He pressed even closer to Stiles, groin to ass, getting a little hard.

Stiles gasped and curled and angled in Derek’s arms, turning his neck for better access. Then, because he was who he was, he had to use his words. “What are you doing?” he asked, even when he knew all too well what Derek was doing and why he was doing it, having instigated the whole thing, planned it since the moment he’d whined so vocally of being cold.

Well, he was not cold anymore. His skin felt nicely warmed up beneath Derek’s questing fingertips, where he’d slipped them under Stiles’ hoodie. “Warming you up, of course,” Derek just mumbled against Stiles kiss and nip abused skin, “you were cold,” he added, like an afterthought.

Stiles chuckled, his giggled reverberating through his whole body, transferring to Derek and making him smile.

“Maybe you should try a little more,” Stiles said, “I’m not entirely sure that all of me is warm yet.”

Then he wriggled his ass against Derek, like Derek wouldn’t get his intention. Like Derek couldn’t read Stiles like a book sometimes, especially when their bodies were pressed together like this, Stiles all but in Derek’s lap.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Derek told him playfully. He bent to press a few more gentle and soft kisses to Stiles neck before going for it in earnest.

Stiles mewled and arched against him when Derek’s teeth broke the skin a little and his lips then latched on, kissing a hickey into his neck. He was rewarded with the flush of Stiles’ arousal rushing over him, filling his senses. Derek knew that Stiles was now so hard it must almost hurt. Yet his lover said nothing, did nothing but ground against Derek’s own hard dick in sweet torture.

A hand snuck down and away from under Stiles’ shirt and found the waistband of Stiles’ sweats. Stiles craned his neck more, invited Derek to mark him there more, as much as he wanted and they both waited a heartbeat, Derek’s heart thrumming in concert with Stiles’, before Derek’s hand slipped under the elastic and gripped Stiles firmly, thumb sliding over the beads of pre-come at the top.

Stiles _groaned_ and bucked against Derek’s hand, against Derek’s teeth.

Derek worried at the mark he had already made some more, laved at it with his tongue as his hand moved in even firm strokes over Stiles dick, his other touching at his chest, rubbing at Stiles right nipple.

“Derek,” Stiles said with a raspy debauched voice, sounding like he had trouble getting in enough air to even be conscious, let alone form words, “come on…”

“Warm enough for you yet?” Derek mumbled against the mark on Stiles neck, his eyes briefly flicking towards the fire and seeing it burn with steady flames. The room around them felt warm enough now, not that Derek noticed much outside of their warm private afghan cocoon.

Stiles gasped out a moan, garbling the words he was trying to answer with. He tried again, though. “Maybe you should try more…”

He was such a little shit but Derek loved him anyway. He loved the way Stiles sounded when he took him apart, when he made him so befuddled with pleasure he couldn’t even get his words out right, he loved it when Stiles retorted, talked back, when he showered Derek with benedictions, when he praised and screamed his name as he came. Derek loved it when Stiles talked to him when _he_ was the one being take apart by Stiles’ long agile and skilled fingers. He loved Stiles soothing, shushing words, his careful words and angry ones. All of them. Because Stiles had never used them to take back his love for Derek.

Right now, Derek was real pleased with how nonverbal he was rendering his spastic lover.

Stiles came all over Derek’s hand and the inside of his pants when Derek bit down hard on where his neck met shoulder, leaving a mark that would heal for days. Which he already knew that he would mouth in the days to come, pet gently with the pads of his fingers, which Stiles would stroke absently, and the touch, by either of them, would send sparks of tingling pleasure through Stiles body. But now, all Derek did was press his lips over it, not really even kissing but just pressing them against the abused flesh, breathing deep, his hands still over Stiles body, one sticky and the other dry where it rested over Stiles’ wildly pounding heart.

Finally, Stiles managed to form words again. “That was… sufficiently hot,” he said with his deeply sated and satisfied voice. Derek grew even harder at that voice. Stiles chuckled. “Although maybe you’re a little… overheated?” he questioned, turned his head and met Derek’s eyes with his own, pupils still blown with arousal.

Stiles was nowhere near done with his plan.

Not that Derek was arguing, far from it. He always goes with Stiles plans. Stiles plans have saved all their lives more times than he wishes to count. Stiles plans to get into his pants? Derek always agrees with those, often even when they’re not alone in the house, then he sometimes tries to derail Stiles, or at least makes sure he makes as little noise as possible. Kissing is awesome for that. It’s the only time Stiles is really quiet.

Derek accommodates the way Stiles turns in his arms and pushes him down onto the floor, looming above him, smirking lazily. He’s swung his legs on either side of Derek’s and Derek isn’t entirely sure how that happened, for his senses are filled with this boy, this man who is his, as much as he is Stiles’. Sometimes he wonders how he deserved to have such a thing, such a person. Someone loyal, passionate and loving.

“Hi…” Stiles says, suddenly hushed and soft-toned, cottoning on to Derek’s somber thoughts. He’s not a wolf, doesn’t want the bite and is, in Derek’s opinion, perfect as he is, but sometimes he catches on to Derek’s moods in a way he is sure isn’t normal for a human. Unless it’s something that only a long relationship based on trust and looking out for each other brings forth. It’s not like Derek has any previous experience.

Derek looks up at him and smiles, reaching a hand to cup Stiles cheek. “Hi…”

And then Stiles is bent down, kissing Derek reverently, softly and sweetly. He settles down over Derek’s hips, blanketing Derek’s dick with his ass. Deliberately or not, Derek can’t tell at first. Soon, when the kiss takes a definite turn towards heated and intent, he knows. Mostly because Stiles is wiggling his ass, dragging it in slow swirling movements over Derek’s hardness, making it hard to think at all, all his blood pooling south.

The thing is, Stiles keeps him pinned down, legs clamped on either side of Derek’s hips, so he can’t thrust up like he wants. Stiles’ wicked fingers are on Derek’s shoulders, pressing him down. The afghan is still clinging to Stiles’ back and it’s tenting over them. It’s not like Derek couldn’t buck Stiles off, unsettle his balance and just jerk up against his ass, thrust against the slope between his cheeks and rut, take and come. He just chooses not to. This is Stiles’ show now. His prerogative.

“Can you…” Stiles says to the corner of Derek’s mouth when he slides away from a long through kiss, wriggling his ass, “…come from just this?” He moves his ass for emphasis, drags it over Derek’s throbbing dick. Derek is very glad he isn’t wearing jeans, because he’d be in pain now if he was.

Sweatpants still have too much fabric. Any and all fabric between him and Stiles’ rounded pert ass is always too much, though.

“Might,” he grits out, groaning as Stiles presses down, rubbing. “Doesn’t mean I particularly want to.”

Stiles chuckles. “May I remind you that you made me come into my pants?”

“Stiles…” Derek’s vibrating with the effort to keep from moving, of bucking up and just taking what he wants, needs, and to hell with Stiles’ pans to drive him lust-crazed through his dick.

“What if I…” Stiles moves and trails kisses along Derek’s cheek, coming to a stop at his neck, at the hinge between it and Derek’s jaw, his breath hot there, “… want you to?”

Then he nips gently, kisses the barely there indentations of his human teeth and then bites down harder, soothing the small hurt with a wet kiss. Repeating what Derek did to him earlier. His bite-marks won’t stick, they’ll heal quick and leave no mark behind. But it’s the intent which matters. It has Derek coming into his pants when Stiles bites down, hard and sucks at the abused flesh, hampering the healing-process.

Derek’s wolf revels in Stiles’ show of dominance, doesn’t fight him and bears his neck as willingly as Derek himself. The act of the bite there is interlaced with trust and arousal both, of Stiles wanting to mark him, of Derek trusting him with the spot. It’s also hot as hell.

For long breaths Derek isn’t even sure where he is, isn’t aware of nothing but Stiles, still bent over him, lips still kissing lazily, intently, at his neck, lapping over his pulsing jugular.

“Well, that was…” he finally manages to say, when some of his wits come back to him. He can’t even remember when he’s come into his pants the last time. Tells Stiles just that. “I can’t even remember when I last came into my pants.”

“Ha, achievement!”, Stiles crows, pressing one last passionate kiss to Derek’s neck. Then he’s looking down at Derek’s face again. His face is flushed, lips kiss-swollen, pupils still dilated, the whiskey brown of his irises almost covered by the inky black. Stiles is smiling wickedly. “Problem is now that I’m hard again,” he tells Derek, matter-of-factly.

Derek draws in a long breath of air and can focus once more. “What do you want me to do?” He asks.

“Well, seeing as your ass has gotten so little attention as of late, I might fuck you over the sofa?” Stiles suggests, grinning widely, wriggling his ass over Derek’s spent dick, making him groan as it’s still sensitive.

“You only want me for my ass…” Derek drawls in mock exasperation.

Stiles doesn’t fall for it. Instead, he leans in for a long desperate kiss, sliding over Derek so he can feel how hard he is, even when Derek can smell it. “Never,” their lips come apart and then Stiles dives right back, thrusting his tongue into Derek’s mouth. “And you know you love it when I’m in you…”

Eventually, once they’ve rearranged themselves, with Derek leaning onto the couch some feet away from the fireplace, his head falling over his arms, while Stiles tongue, his wicked indecent tongue, thrusts inside Derek. Stiles pries him open with insistent lingering licks and slick slow thrusts of his fingers. Derek doesn’t know when he’d crabbed the lube but it matter little.

Especially when Stiles finally fills him, the teasing over, the goal achieved. Stiles is inside of him and belongs there, this part of Derek known only by him, ever. No-one else has been allowed to do this, to know Derek at his most vulnerable, most open.

Derek has never trusted anyone like he trusts Stiles, not after Kate. And even she hadn’t gotten this.

This part of Derek which is Stiles’ alone and will ever be so. It feels so fucking good, too, to have Stiles in him, to have his body stretched around him, to be open for him. Stiles is still for half a dozen heartbeats, hands on Derek’s chest, torso draped over Derek’s back, head bowed over Derek’s neck.

“Love you,” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s ear, breath ghosting over the shell of his ear, tickling a little.

Then, only then, does he move. Slow at first, long, almost drawn out thrusts, waiting for Derek to match them. Which Derek does. It’s more for Stiles’ benefit, of him getting his rhythm than anything else. Not that the pace quickens and changes instantly. Stiles is always and will forever be a tease. Derek kind of loves it.

The soft pop of the pine logs and the hum of the fire mingles with their labored gasping breaths, the slick slap of sweaty skin against skin, the slide and thrust of Stiles’ dick into Derek’s ass. Derek closes his eyes, his head buried in his crossed arms over the couch, and grows hard again, his ardor stoked by the words Stiles murmurs to him, by his warm welcome hands on his body, by his body in his, pressing just right, giving him what he at one point didn’t know how to even ask for.

Derek still remembers the first time that Stiles had been in him. How Stiles’ face had looked when Derek had asked for what he wanted. The way Stiles had touched him, spread him open with his fingers, shaking minutely all through it, how he’d been so careful, asking several times that it really was okay, that Derek wanted it. How Stiles had tried to go slow but had in the end lost it and had ended with a much rougher note than what he’d apparently intended.

How much Derek himself had loved every single heartbeat and murmur of it.

Derek let go of everything but Stiles now, much as he had then, giving himself permission to revel in it. His orgasm creeps in on him, shaking him with it’s intensity. He gasps Stiles’ names into the sofa, spilling all over the floor as the pattern of Stiles’ thrusts shatters and shakes and he, too, comes, spilling himself into Derek after a few scattered jolts of his hips.

Stiles is draped over Derek’s back, pressing kisses into his neck as Derek moves his head sideways.

They’re both ragged gasping messes, pliant in their afterglow, succinctly sated and well-warmed. Stiles withdraws from Derek much too soon and Derek knows he lets out a whiny noise, even when he tries not to.

“The puppies are coming home soon,” Stiles tells him, letting his long fingers wander over Derek’s back before he settles beside him on the floor and draws him close to a hug, “did you want for them to find us with me still in you and all your nude glory draped over the sofa?”

Derek shakes his head. He’s not sure if what Stiles says is the truth, can’t catch a lie with the way Stiles’ heart is still beating hard after the high they’re coming down from, can’t even tell the time, nor remember when his beta’s are due to arrive for their Christmas Eve lunch, a yearly tradition.

“It would undermine my authority as alpha,” Derek says.

Which, of course, makes Stiles giggle. “Yeah, like they’ve not all seen us naked in compromising positions before…”

Derek doesn’t need the reminder. Privacy is a precious thing with snoopy beta’s who often don’t have a proper notion of privacy and personal space. Well, puppy piles are always good for morale. But Stiles’ naked body is for Derek’s eyes only.

“Come on,” Stiles says, gets up and motions for Derek to do the same, “better get cleaned up as both of us have come in our pants.  

“Didn’t this start with you complaining about being cold?” Derek says, looking pointedly at Stiles, who’s only dressed in a hoodie and nothing else.

Stiles strikes a pose. It’s ridiculous. And a bit hot. Mostly ridiculous, though.

“Well, all the more reason to go upstairs, shower and put on something decent with no sticky come inside…”

Derek eventually follows him upstairs, picking up their discarded sweats along the way and deciding that he doesn’t really need to fix the radiator in their bedroom that soon.

A chilly Stiles has it’s perks.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to podfic this fic feel free to do so, I give full permission. Just hit me with a link so I can listen too. :)


End file.
